


7-Point Camlock Restraints

by rengekusa (LEAUX)



Category: Motorcity
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LEAUX/pseuds/rengekusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's holding Chuck back?</p>
            </blockquote>





	7-Point Camlock Restraints

**Author's Note:**

> This fic unraveled on me as I hacked away at it, and kept growing heads like a hydra, so I apologize if it reads as a bit disjointed. More than anything, I just had a serious need to vent Motorcity emotions.

In the beginning, more than death, Chuck was afraid of letting people down. Suddenly, he was expected to play the hero.  It was his responsibility to help protect the people of Motorcity, but he constantly worried that he wasn't right for the job – that he would make the wrong call. Though he had already aided the team in a few small victories against Kane, and sparked a bit of faith in Mike and the others, he had let people down in the past, and he now faced the impossible task of finding enough self-assurance to match the bravado of his new teammates.

A few minor accidents on some of their earliest routine trips had put Chuck in the mind that he might have made a terrible mistake joining up with Mike and the Burners. Though he had initially begged just to be left on the sidelines, Mike seemed like he would do just about anything to keep Chuck in the seat next to him, and the odd fluttering of Chuck's heart prevented him from denying that request. His logical mind dictated that, if he couldn't scrape together the confidence he needed to believe that he really belonged on the team, then the least he could do was cobble together enough extra safety features to keep him inside Mutt in one piece through anything Kane's bots and Mike's driving could dish out.

“Whoa, what's all this, now?” Mike stooped to examine the empty cardboard boxes which littered the garage around where Chuck was tinkering in Mutt. He cleared his throat as he began to read the dusty, faded package copy.

“' _We are proud to present our latest rotary cam impact restraint system, featuring a no-snag face plate designed to prevent accidental disengagement. Our harness features a CNC-machined aluminum quick-release buckle with hardened steel tumblers, and belts made from laterally ribbed military webbing with heat-sealed ends and double-stitched overlaps for additional seam integrity.'_ Seam integrity?  What difference does that make?  Oh god, there's more."  Chuck gave an exasperated sigh as Mike turned over the box and continued reading.

 _"'The addition of a new belt centering system keeps webbing centered after tightening for proper belt and hardware alignment. Each belt tab and roller adjuster is made of drop-forged steel, and all parts are proudly made in the USA!_ ' Uh, wow, Chuck, don't you think this might be overkill? Even just a little bit?” He whined, hovering nervously as his newly appointed co-pilot made some final adjustments to the upgraded bucket seat and safety harness.

“You said I could do whatever I wanted to get comfortable riding with you, right? Well, this is a start” Chuck warned, tightening the straps and bucking himself in with the complicated tumbling locks.

“A start?”

“A start. Thinking about adding a few more airbags next.”

Even the serious tone of Chuck's voice couldn't prevent Mike's expression from melting into a smile.

“You're the expert, buddy.”

Chuck gave him a look.

“Well, when driving with a certified maniac, one needs to be prepared.”

His cheeks were burning as he chided the friend he'd come to idolize.  As the months went on, Chuck gradually became more and more accustomed to constant adrenaline highs, near-death experiences, and his embarassing, repressed crush on Mike. But even as he began to feel a braver, stronger Chuck brewing just beneath the surface, there came a day when his new self-confidence was stretched to the breaking point.

**< ><><>**

Another accident.

Something was different.

Chuck opened his eyes and tried to focus.

He'd never had trouble dealing with blood – at least, not in a clinical sense. Whenever he saw blood and guts on TV or in video games, it was nothing. In medical emergencies, it was a fact of life.  Here and now, however, sitting shotgun in Mutt, Chuck was learning the hard way that, at least in the psychological sense, he had a very real problem with the blood which now streamed freely from the gash in his skull.  As dizziness and nausea threatened to overwhelm him, he only vaguely recognized the sound of his own name being called from the driver's seat, over and over.

“Chuck! Chuck, don't worry, buddy, the gang will be here soon, and we'll get fixed-up. It'll be okay, Chuck, just stay calm, okay? Can you do that? Chuck? Hey, can you hear me?”

The torrent of pacifying words kept streaming in and out of focus as the sound of that voice brought on a fresh wave of panic.

Mike.

C'mon, Mike, can I hear you? Are you kidding? I can hear you in my dreams, I can see you every time I close my eyes, I can –

“Whoa, uh, Chuck? Dude... hey, are you... uh... are you still with it? How hard did you hit your head, man?” Mike cleared his throat, pressing the the nervous wrinkles out of his gaze, “Sure, I know it looks like a lot of blood, but I didn't even roll Mutt that hard, so –”

Mike.

C'mon, Mike, why do you have to always be so perfectly heroic – so stoic, even though I can hear the fear in your voice? And lord almighty, why do you have to look so fucking gorgeous while you do it? Why do you –

“Chuck! Shh, shh, look, ha ha, you got me good, buddy! Really had me going for awhile, there, pal.”

Chuck watched in a daze as Mike unbuckled himself and tumbled out of Mutt as if it were all happening in slow motion. Next thing he knew, deft hands had undone the quick-release buckle on the complex safety harness, pulled Chuck from the wreck, and reacquainted him with solid ground. Blearily, he stared up into Mike's ever increasingly worried eyes.

Mike.

C'mon, Mike, look at you, so worried over a nothing like me.

“Chuck, you're –”

I mean, I do look, every chance I get, and now I see that just watching and waiting could never have been enough.

“Chuck, for the love of –”

You are the single most incredible person alive. You are the single most incredible thing to ever happen to a guy like me. You are –

“Oh look, the guys are here, that's... uh. Oh man. Oh boy.”

How could I ever deserve a guy like you? I don't even deserve to be your friend. I don't even deserve to walk beside you, let alone ride with you – a guy like you. A man like you.

“Okay, they're coming over now. Look, just take a deep breath, okay? I really don't think you wanna keep –”

Chuck's thoughts drifted to the way Mike was holding him – the feeling of his arms around his shoulders, leaning over him, knees beneath him, cautiously inspecting his wound. He could sense a tremor in those fingers, and feel the shaking in his breath.

Mike.

Mike.

I don't want to see you like this. You've got no right looking like this – so afraid.

“I do too have the right!”

Chuck's head was really swimming now – he knew he had to act fast. He made a grab for the hand that was still ghosting across his forehead.

Mike.

You deserve better from me. You deserve better than me. But I love you. Dammit, I'm so in love with you. I'm so pathetically, hopelessly –

“Mike! Chuck!”

“Hey, are you two alright? We caught part of your distress signal, but it got cut off and oh – oh wow, what –”

“– hopelessly in love with you, Mike Chilton, and don't you ever forget that, don't you mmmph–”

Chuck's words were muffled and lost in a sudden face-full of Mike's white t-shirt, and slowly, everything when dark.

**< ><><>**

Nervous laughter echoed in his ears as he regained consciousness.

“So then I had to roll Mutt to evade the last wave of drones, and I uh... kind of dropped us clean off the overpass!”

More laughter, then suddenly, hushed voices as they noticed Chuck had woken up. Everyone was looking at Mike with an awkward blend of bemusement and pity.

“Well, uh, we probably ought to get back to tunin' up our rides!” Dutch called from the door frame, a notch too loud for nonchalance. Texas practically up and sprinted out of the room as Julie left Mike with a supportive pat on the back.

Mike sighed, and came to stand beside the cot where Chuck had been propped up to recover.

“Hey, buddy” he said, solemn but smiling, “how're you feeling?”

Chuck felt his face begin to burn as Mike crowded in close. He looked away.

“To be honest, I'm mostly confused. What happened?”

Mike's composure slowly frayed into a tangle of uncharacteristic gestures and expressions.

“Well, there was this high speed chase, as usual, with some Kanebots, y'know? Pretty standard issue, by the looks of 'em, but they pulled a few new moves on us. One thing led to another an... I rolled Mutt! Uh, again.” He declared in a rush, throwing his hands up in defeat, all a nervous grin.

Chuck only looked more puzzled.

“I mean, I really rolled Mutt. Off of an overpass. Probably a... three story drop? So, frankly, we're both lucky to still be talking to each other!” He faltered as even more of the color drained from Chuck's face.

“Ah, but don't worry! Jacob assured me your injuries aren't serious, you just have a mild, uh, concussion, plus a few cuts and bruises, same as me.” As he offered a small smile, Chuck could see that it must have pained him. “So yeah! Don't let all that blood fool you, we're gonna be just fine.” He took the chair by Chuck's bedside, and looking a bit sheepish, pulled an unassuming wooden crate out from behind him.

“So whaddya say, wanna knock back a few of these with me?”

Chuck had never been so relieved to see a box of Motorcity moonshine in his entire life.

**< ><><>**

“Chuuuuuck, Chuck! Chuck Chuck Chuck Chuckles Chuck!”

Two beers. Honestly, Chuck had only counted two. Maybe there was a reason beyond the law from on high that Mike never drank – at least not around the other Burners.

“Hey, Chuck! Hey, buddy!”

Their brave leader, the lightweight.

“Mikey, calm down, bro.”

The two of them, having made a change of location, had been relaxing in Burner HQ, the retro Corvette bench seats that had recently been serving as a lounge couch now inundated with the gangly limbs of a guilelessly drunk Mike Chilton and a warily tipsy Chuck.

At what point had Mike collapsed onto him, loosely clinging to his chest, fingers wandering along the edges of his shirt? What exactly was happening here?

“Chuck. What. Is. Up. How're you doing? How're we doing? We doing good?”

Mike buried a drowsy smile in that pale blue Burners logo, the programmer's fingers anxiously twisting in the wind. What exactly...?

“I'm doing just fine, Mikey. You, on the other hand, I can't speak for.”

That statement seemed to make Mike cling just a bit more tightly. Craning his neck a bit, he tired in vain to catch a look at Chuck's shaded eyes. Suddenly, bleary confusion became a blindingly charismatic flash of teeth.

“Chuckles, I can safely say I am doing awesome. 'S good, 's all good.”

He nestled back into blue cotton.

“'S very nice.”

Chuck offered a few arrested pats on the shoulder, not sure how to cope with Mike's obviously compromised judgment. He saved a mental slap on the wrist for himself.

Never should have let the Cablers give us all that home-brew. It was a very, very gracious gift, but couldn't they have just... held onto it for a few more years? Not a single one of the Burners was of legal drinking age, for whatever that was worth anymore. After all was said and done, though, it had been Jacob's firm opinion that anyone old enough to fight a war was old enough to drink.

“Easy for you to say, old-timer,” Chuck whined to himself, chancing a look down at the serenely inebriated face of his best friend.

Who ever said we were old enough to fight this war?

It was a strange feeling, having Mike cling to him like this. It was as if, in a moment of weakness – of doubt – the tables were turned. Because, even though he was all smiles, Chuck could tell there was still something amiss with the boss.  Why else would he even have picked up those beers in the first place?

On a typical party night, team Mutt usually stayed sober on the sidelines, watching Dutch and Texas duke it out over a drinking game or darts or what have your, while Julie and Claire took immense joy just in tasting something so utterly forbidden top-side.

But not tonight.

Tonight, the two of them were alone.

Alone with a six-pack of Tennie's favorite blend, courtesy of her doting father.

“Mm, I'm just not sleepy at all,” Mike confided into Chuck's t-shirt, so earnestly that Chuck almost choked on his own laughter.

“Y'don't say?”

“I do say!”

“Ha ha ha!” Chuck couldn't help the laughter – maybe it was nerves. Mike seemed to like it though, as he immediately set to making sure it would continue by attacking Chuck's midriff with intent to tickle.

“No no no, ugh why? Mikey, quit it!” he squealed, arching off the couch in an attempt to dislodge the assailant. Unsurprisingly, Mike was difficult to buck. Unwilling to give up the fight, Mike sad back on Chuck's thighs, granting him better tickle access to the rest of Chuck's pale sides.

It only took Chuck two whole seconds to panic.

In an unforeseen power-play, Chuck pitched them both off of the couch, into the gaudy orange shag rug below. Mike just laughed and laughed – it was almost manic – before looking up, finally getting a lock on those shy blue eyes. He smirked as he let out a little sigh though his nose.

Chuck idly wondered whether, after all this time hanging around with Mike, this would be the moment his heart would finally stop.

“M-Mikey...”

“Chuckles?”

Warm smile, warm breath, warm voice, warm skin.

“Nothing. Never mind.”

Eyes closed, Mike leaned up to nestle his nose and mouth in a soft hollow of exposed breastbone, lips hovering along Chuck's pulse. The resulting gasp wasn't the loud, terror-filled variety they'd grown accustomed to, but a different sort entirely – quiet and shy.

Intimate.

Mike hummed appreciatively, as shudders wracked the hacker's body whole.

Chuck forced Mike back into the carpet, abruptly, his face unusually stern.

“Mikey, I've gotta know what this is about.”

Instantly, Mike seemed to retreat into his own mind to regroup, eyes struggling to appear sober. He took a few measured breaths.

“This is about you, Chuckles. Or rather,” he brought a gentle hand to rest on that bright blue Burners logo one more time.

“This is about us.”

His shirt, as well as Mike's, were both still covered in dry blood. Even though he knew they would both be alright, the momentary nausea he felt at the sight of it was anaphylactic.

Mike.

C'mon, Mike.

…

Oh no.

Hyperventilating wouldn't speed his recovery, but his brain couldn't seem to figure out what else to do with a fresh wave of panic.

“Uh huh, uh, say, uh... Mikey,” he cleared his throat, “after the crash, I didn't happen to, uh, well... y'know, like, conveniently pass out immediately without saying anything, did I?”

Mike tried to hide his face, but Chuck could see it – was he... embarrassed?

Oh god, oh man, the awkward pity-eyes everyone was giving Mike as they cleared the room suddenly made a lot more sense. Everyone heard it, then.

I must have really done it.

I must have just ruined my life.

I told him.

The silence stretched on as Mike uneloquently stared into the carpet fibers, opening and closing his mouth as he grappled with what a terrible liar he was, versus what harm the truth might do.

“No, Chuckles, you didn't pass out.” He sighed, looking his best friend straight in the eye.

“Of course I didn't...” he whimpered.

“Chuck, it's okay. Look, I know you were a little loopy after that impact, and completely terrified, but all it did was make you, well... honest.”

Mike smiled, slowly.

“And it's time I was honest with you, too. And Chuck, I'm sorry it took a scare like this to make us realize how stupid we are, but I can only speak for myself when I say I didn't regret a single second of just being your best friend, either. I guess what I'm getting at is, I was prepared to go on forever maintaining this thing we have just as it was, and that was cowardly. What you did,”

He twisted a lock of free hair behind Chuck's ear.

“That was brave. What I'm trying to say is, Chuck, you're my hero.”

The rotary lock of Chuck's mind slowly began spinning, the tumblers each sliding into place as he began to see how his fear, his faith, his doubt and self-confidence, his logic and experience, his responsibilities as a Burner – each of these things formed the restraints that kept him in that bucket seat beside his best friend, day in and day out. For the first time, he realized that beneath all the physical straps and buckles he painstakingly installed and maintained in Mutt, it was above all this immaterial bond that really kept him where he belonged. He smiled sheepishly.

“Right back at ya.”

 They lay there together in the carpet until their legs started falling asleep.  Mike snuck a quick kiss on the cheek, and while Chuck was still dazed, rolled them up to a sitting position.

"Whattya say, hero, wanna clean up and turn in?"

Chuck stood quickly, offering a hand to help Mike to his feet.

"Even heroes need their rest"

They cleared away all the trash and empty bottles, and strolled back to their rooms hand-in-hand.  Normally, this would have reduced Chuck to a nervous, muttering wreck, but what was the use in worrying?  He was already safely strapped down, buckled in tight, right where he belonged.

 

完 

 

 

 


End file.
